


All on my lips (All on my heart)

by Kili_M



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Introspection, Jealousy, M/M, Near Future, Past Harry Styles/Camille Rowe, Past Nick Grimshaw/OMC - Freeform, Sexual Content, everyone is bad at feelings, like a lot of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-07 03:30:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kili_M/pseuds/Kili_M
Summary: "He can’t do all of this. He can’t fantasise about his best friend in a way he never allowed himself to since he was 17 and drunk for the first time. He can’t have Nick like that, because Nick is too precious to lose for a shag, no matter how much Harry wants it."-Nick and Harry deal with break-ups very differently.





	All on my lips (All on my heart)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the longest thing I have ever written (sorry BA dissertation), and I'm really happy to share it with you after months in the making. The fic is based on a prompt first posted on @radioprince on Tumbr.
> 
> Massive thanks to my IRL friend Em for beta-ing this fic even if she a) knows nothing about this fandom and b) had only ever read a few kids-friendly Harry Potter fanfics before this. I'm sorry you had to go through this but you're a star ! All remaining mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Also I started writing this way before the Camille/Harry breakup became public, so in this version of a near future they were together for 2+ years and had moved in together in New York at some point. 
> 
> If you are or know any of the people in this fic in real life please please close this tab :/
> 
> Title from 'Humain' by PNL (translated from the original French)
> 
> (English isn't my first language)
> 
> Look at the end notes for extra spoiler notes on accidental voyeurism

Harry sits by himself in the kitchen, his gaze lost somewhere else in his memories, in a time where this place was full of life, laughter and love. The room is cold and silent. The heating has been off for a week, and they’ll cut the electricity soon. Their flat will die, and with it the last traces of months together built on hopes and promises he wasn’t able to keep.

Somewhere in the quiet, a voice rings in his ears. A girl from the past, another one, whose name he sometimes forget, who loved him when all he wanted to do was fuck her and leave her. She screamed at him through the tears, in the end : “you’re such a little shit ! a pathetic, heartless shit !”. Harry does not think he’s heartless, but he’s been feeling a lot like a pathetic little shit recently. No need for poetry.

The light of the oven blips red at him. The cold of New York in January is starting to seep through his clothes and he shivers out of his trance. Time to go.

He gets up, grabs his bag on the floor, leaves his keys on the kitchen counter for the estate agent to find and calls a car to the airport.

_\----_

Nick’s sofa is much more comfortable than Harry remembered. But then again, Harry had been sitting on the same spot on said sofa for about ten days now, so it probably just morphed to his body at this point.

_Location, Location, Location_ is playing on the TV and Harry is fascinated. He’s lost count of the amount of episodes he’s watched already, but they keep getting better and better. Who knew he’d ever get such a passion for real estate ?

He’s wrapped himself in a comfy blanket stolen from Nick’s bed and made himself a nice cuppa. There’s a half-empty packet of Digestives on the arm of the sofa, easy to reach. Somewhere on the floor, he abandoned his guitar and his half-attempts at writing a heartbroken love song. He’s not very sure he’s heartbroken. Mostly just disappointed in himself.

Thing is : Harry loves to be loved. He thrives on affection. Burns brighter under the admiration of thousands. There’s nothing he hates more than when people dislike him. It hurts in a special way, deep inside, between his heart and his pride. How dare you ? he wants to ask. How dare you to not love me ?

So when Camille looked at him with angry eyes and said “I can stand this anymore, Haz,” he’d felt like he was going to drown. She was his. His girlfriend, the girl he’s moved in with, his first real serious relationship. She couldn’t stop loving him.

(How selfish of him).

But the truth was that it was Harry that had stopped loving her. Sometimes during their two years together, between the mad passion of the first days and moving in together and fucking and loving and fighting and making up, he’d gotten lost. He had grown more distant, a stranger in their own home, leaving her alone at night to stay out late with Jeff or Waseem. He hadn’t cheated on her - no, he would never - but his heart had moved on. There was also the death threats she got constantly, the way she would cry late at night because she couldn’t deal with it anymore, because a dozens of girls would tell her they hoped she would get raped and killed every day on social media. He had felt so helpless, incapable of doing anything to make it better ; but also guilty, knowing full well it all happened because of him. More and more, he’d been telling himself that she would be better off without him anyway, free to be happy and open again for the whole world to see.

And one day, there she was, fierce of beauty with her eyes wet with tears, her mouth biting back her fury.

“You’re not there anymore, you never call, you’re ignoring me,” she’d said, each word hurting Harry a little bit more by putting him in front of his own failures. “I shouldn’t be the only one trying to make it work, Harry. I thought we were in love. I thought this was forever. But you’re like … gone. I’m not sure there’s anything to save here. I’m not sure you even want to try.”

And Harry, cowardly, had stayed silent. Things had been packed, movers came around, paperwork was signed, and between Camille and him the silence had grown overbearing. She’d hugged him, in the end. A sad goodbye. They’d both cried while she was waiting for a car to pick her up.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t enough. I’m sorry I didn’t try,” he’d told her. She’d smiled at him, sad and beautiful. “It wasn’t meant to be, I guess,” she’d replied. For a second, he had wanted to run after her, call her back, wrap her in his arms again and never let her go. Instead, he’d watched her leave with a piece of his heart.

Two weeks later, he’s watching bad TV at Nick’s and trying to process his feelings with Pig and Stinky as only companions. Nick is out for the evening. He offered for Harry to join him, but Harry wasn’t in the mood to drink and dance in another too-loud and too-dark London club, so he’d elected to stay on the sofa in days-old sweatpants.

Going back to London had seemed like the most natural thing to do, in the end. Nick was fresh off a break-up himself, and Harry had thought they could support each other through it. Gemma and her boyfriend lived in his London house now, so staying at Nick’s had seemed like a great idea. Harry had planned on having some quality best friend time. Only, Nick was angry, not dealing with confusing-feelings-akin-to-heartbreak-but-not-really like Harry was. He had just found out that Bill, the guy he’d been dating for 8 months - a record by Nick’s standards - had cheated on him with some random music guy at an industry party where they’d gone together as a couple for the first time. One day Nick was smiling at a sea of camera, his first official boyfriend next to him and in all the tabloids, for the next day splitting up and ignoring the dozen of articles published everywhere about his incapacity to stay in a relationship. He’d ranted on the phone to Harry about it, moaning about how unfair the press was, he’d been _cheated on_ Harold ! He wasn’t the problem there !

Sure, Nick had been supportive. He’d opened his door for Harry, let him put his stuff in the spare room and had sat next to him to feed him ice cream while watching _The Notebook_ and petting his hair. He’d also taken Harry drinking and dragged him back to his house when he had been too drunk to walk. Really, Nick had been great, and Harry was grateful for friends like him. But, there was a problem.

Harry was quietly coping with his break-up by moping around and feeling sorry for himself. Nick … not so much. Harry had known Nick for a decade now. He knew almost everything about him, including that he liked pretty boys and fucking pretty boys. And Harry was the last person to judge because he’d done his fair share of sleeping around before Camille. But maybe there was such thing as too much. Maybe ? For some reason, seeing Nick picking up boys after boys every night was bothering him, and he couldn’t explain why. He just wanted his best friend to be safe and happy, he told himself. He was bothered because he cared for Nick and Nick’s feelings, yes.

Harry’s latest episode of _Location, Location, Location_ ends. He sighs. Time to be sensible and go to bed. He goes to let Pig and Stinky out in the garden for a bit, fondly watching them run around before shooing them to their dog beds for the night. Once they’re quiet and settled, Harry grabs his guitar, his songwriting notebook and his stolen blanket and makes his way upstairs to the guest bedroom, switching the lights off after himself. The quiet of the house is almost overbearing, and for a second he regrets not going out with Nick. _He would have abandoned you in the end to go to some model’s place anyways,_ his mind whispers back. Right. Time to go to bed.

Harry is brushing his teeth in the ensuite bathroom when he hears the door opening and closing downstairs. Nick is back then. Harry’s barely seen him today with the radio and a few meetings he had to attend afterwards. Maybe he should go ask him about the club, wish him a good night ?

Harry silently makes his way down the stairs, careful of not waking up the dogs sleeping in the lounge. As he walks towards the kitchen, he hears what sounds like voices whispering. Has Nick brought Alexa home with him for a sleepover ? It can’t be a guy, he rarely has his hookups over, preferring going to their places to slip out discreetly in the morning.

The voices laugh. There is a muffled thump, like something hitting the floor. And the quiet, again.

Harry peaks through the entryway to the kitchen. And stops abruptly, holding his breath, his heart going into a panic.

There, in the low light, Nick is getting a blowjob from some guy with long blond hair. Long blond hair that Nick has gotten wrapped tightly in his hands, tugging at it along with each movements of the guy’s head, guiding his mouth on his dick.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Harry is frozen to the spot, unable to take his eyes away from the scene in front of him. The blond guy is moaning enthusiastically around Nick’s prick, his eyes closed, one hand hidden to Harry’s view where he’s probably jerking off at the same time. And Nick, fuck, Nick is murmuring an endless stream of praises and endearments to the guy, cradling his jaw between his long fingers. It’s … hot. God, Harry both desperately wants to flee and stay there forever to watch his best friend’s face flushed in blissful abandon.

It’s only when Harry’s brain registers that he’s hard, too, that he feels like he can move again. He has to get away from here. He can’t have Nick find him in the dark as he gets head from a nameless man.

Holding each breath he takes, Harry very slowly turns away from the scene. He has to keep himself from running back upstairs, but he makes it to the guest bedroom in the end. He feels exhausted, his heart thumping erratically, his breath ragged. He rests his head against the closed door of his room and close his eyes. But no matter how much he tries to get the scene out of his head, the vision of Nick guiding that guy to his knees, pressing his cock in his mouth, keeps coming back to Harry. Oh, he is so so fucked.

He slumps down to the floor, pressing his palms hard against his eyes to conjure the memories away. But he’s still hard, aching with burning, sudden want. He doesn’t want to touch himself, not like that, not while thinking of his best friend having sex with another man. It feels wrong, but so delicious at the same time. It’s like suddenly his mind is open to a thousand possibilities. Like he had never really considered Nick as a sexual being before, until now he can’t get enough of it.

(And this is a lie, because Harry can still remember being 17 and wide eyed and a bit in love with Nick, kissing him one drunken night and trying to get his hands on Nick’s dick before his friend had stopped him with a laugh and tucked him into bed. It is a lie because Harry always had a thing for Nick, always at the back of his mind like an afterthought. He just had to pretend it was nothing.)

Harry’s hand is on his hard cock before he can fully process it. He sees Nick’s face twisted in pleasure again and again. He remembers the way the guy’s mouth was stretched around Nick, spit-slick and pink, and for a second he thinks - what if it was me ? What if it was Harry on his knees on the cold kitchen tiles, his lips around Nick, sucking him, ripping the same endless litany of praises and whimpers out of him ?

The fantasy pierces through Harry like a poisonous arrow, seeping in his veins, making his blood boil. Now that he has opened the gates, he can’t stop himself. He takes his own prick out of his boxers and wraps a hand around it, imagining Nick’s massive hand instead. How warm it would feel. It has been so long since he did this with a man, much before Camille, a distant memory almost. He wants it so much now. He wants a dick in his mouth, a hard hairy chest crushed against his own. He wants hands - Nick’s hands - in his hair, tugging him right where he’s meant to be. God, he wants a cock in his arse, can almost feel it now, and the suave praises of a voice sounding too much like Nick’s whispering in his ears as he gets fucked. Pounding into him. Tearing the sound out of him.

Harry comes like that, spilling all over his hand, his back against the bedroom’s door. He’s flushed and breathing wildly. He hates himself the second he opens his eyes.

He can’t do all of this. He can’t fantasise about his best friend in a way he never allowed himself to since he was 17 and drunk for the first time. He can’t have Nick like that, because Nick is too precious to lose for a shag, no matter how much Harry wants it. (No matter how much Harry wants to be in love again, how maybe deep down he has been in love with Nick for years).

Harry cleans up quickly, mindful of making any noises. He collapses into his bed and, if he tosses and turns for hours before finding sleep, he decides that it means nothing.

The next day, Harry wakes up afraid to leave his room and face Nick. His whole body still feels on fire and he is sure that his friend would be able to tell what he was up to the night before, how he’d come in his own hand with a fateful name on his lips. But he also doesn’t feel ready to face the blond guy that Nick brought home if he is still around. This is a mess.

In the end, it is Nick that comes looking for him. It must be a few minutes past 10. Harry is slumped on his bed, warmed by the sunlight filtering through the window. His mind is tangled in a peculiar mix of lust and melancholia. He’s thinking about Camille, and thinking about Nick. There’s a knock on the door. “Haz ? Hazza ? You awake ? Want to come for Saturday brunch with Aimee ? She’s bringing Sunday, it’ll be great.”

Nick’s voice is muffled by the door, all soft and sleep warm. Harry wants him next to himself, in the same bed, saying the same thing to his ear with a hand around his hip. At least, an invitation for brunch means that the blond guy must be gone. Harry hums in agreement and hide his face in a pillow when Nick opens the door. “Sounds good Grim. Give me 20 minutes to get ready and I’ll join you downstairs,” he says, pointedly looking at the wall and nowhere else.

“Cool, great,” replies Nick. “I’ll see you in a bit, sleepyhead.” There’s a shuffling sound and Nick is out of the room. Time to get up.

Brunch is great. Aimee indeed brought Sunday with her, and Harry spends most of his time making faces at her and listening to her babbling about a lost teddy bear. She’s so grown now, almost 3 years old, running around in the café while Aimee and Nick discuss the latest gossip.

Being with Nick after last night is not as weird as Harry had feared. Sure, when Nick teases him about the cute girl that comes up to them to ask for a selfie, Harry both wants to strangle him and kiss him for all to see. And sure, when Nick puts a casual hand on Harry’s arm at the end of a joke, it’s hard to forget what he looks like when he comes, what his cock looks like hard and flushed and covered in spit. But Harry keeps quiet and act like his normal self. He’ll get over it – he has to.

“Are you okay Harry ?” Aimee asks him very seriously with a comforting hand on his shoulder when they say their goodbyes and Harry offers his babysitting services for the future. Harry tries to smile at her, but he knows she can tell the mess his mind is tangled in. She was always the most perceptive of his friends, despite the fact that they were never that close. She squeezes his shoulder, hard, and for a second there is no Camille and no Nick and nothing else, just Aimee’s kind gaze on him and her fierce reassurance. Harry loves her very much.

After their brunch, Nick and Harry part ways. Nick goes spend the rest of his afternoon with Aimee and his goddaughter at the park while Harry goes back to Nick’s place under the excuse of getting some songwriting done. He locks himself in the guest room, picks up his guitar and plucks the cords for a bit before giving up, again. He cannot bring himself to write anything. Losing Camille feels too new and raw to put into words, but very old at the same time. He feels like he watched them drift apart slowly but irremediably for months, too afraid to do anything about it, waiting for the end to come.

And then there’s Nick. Harry flops back against his bed, his guitar on his lap. They’d been friends for almost a decade, the two of them. Best friends, even, always coming back together despite all the circumstances that kept pulling them apart, despite all the reasons why a young mega-famous popstar should have had better things to do than to hang out with an aging radio DJ. They’d always been flirty with each other, but never crossed the line. With time, Harry had gotten over his teenage crush, Nick had gotten over his lusting for another young boybander. They’d grown. Harry had supported Nick through his heartbreak over Nicco, Nick had made fun of Harry for dating Taylor and Kendall. They’d laughed at each other for being shameless slags who’d never stop sleeping around but also had long conversations at night about how they were both afraid of commitment as much as they feared they would end up alone and loveless.

Nick knew him - knows him - inside and out. And this terrifies Harry. But the truth is clear as water now, and he can’t escape it : he wants Nick, had always wanted Nick, as his best friend but also his lover and maybe even more. He skin burns with it, an itch he can’t get rid of.

Harry pushes his guitar away and slips a hand in his pants, thumbing his half-hard dick. Too late to pretend this was just passing madness, the result of his desperate need to be loved combined with seeing Nick get a blowjob from a pretty boy in the dark of his kitchen. Harry moans and sink into the feeling as his hands wraps around his cock.

The day before, Nick had invited Harry to go out with their friends for the night. He’d done so almost every night since Harry had decided to crash in his guest bedroom, but so far Harry had turned down most of the invitations. He had not really been feeling like going out, preferring to stay in and bask in his melancholia. Better than making half-attempts at picking up someone for the night and having to go back to Stoke Newington by himself because Nick would have abandoned him to go back to some model’s flat.

But tonight, Harry feels reckless. He’s angry, almost, his emotions shaken and fuzzy and so intense at the same time. A whirl of lust and pride that he wants to shake out of his body. This is the most alive he’s felt in months. He’s forgotten all the reasons why he shouldn’t, only thinking of why would Nick not take him, too ? Harry knows that he’s charming and pretty. He knows that he can get almost anyone he wants. And now Nick is the one he wants. So he’ll get him, makes his mission to. It’s exhilarating, this feeling he gets has he prepares to go out. It’s been a while, but it feels so good, getting ready to try seducing someone to his bed. Like putting back on an old outfit he’s forgotten he could so nicely fit into.

He’d shipped most of the clothes at his New York flat to his LA mansion, but had taken enough of them to London to have some choice. Deep into his suitcase, under too many pairs of sweatpants, he finds one of his best pairs of jeans, the nice dark ones that make his arse look great. They’ll go perfectly with one of Nick’s old printed shirts.

Once Harry is ready, he sends a text to Nick : _Dunno when you’ll be back but heading to Pix’s for pre-drinks. See you there xx_

He gets a text back almost straight away : _Finally getting out of you man-cave Harold ? Good to hear ! I’ll see you at Pix’s. Don’t steal my clothes xxx_

_Oops, too late,_ sends Harry, already in a taxi. He smiles. This is going to be his night, he’s decided so. Time to have some fun.

Pixie and George are delighted to see him. There’s only a few people already there and Harry sips a glass of wine while catching up with Daisy. He’s buzzing with anticipation when Nick lets himself in, noisy and joyous like he always is. Harry watches him hug and kiss people around the room. When Nick finally gets to Daisy, he has a lipstick mark on his cheek and a glass in his hand.

“Hiya Daize !” Nick drawls as he wraps an arm around her shoulder. He winks at Harry. “Harold. Long time no see, you awful shirt-stealer.” Harry feels it in his whole body.

They chat and drink some more before everyone is ready to leave. Their next stop is Shoreditch House, where is held some very private party for the night, no cameras allowed. Always a safe choice, especially when Harry is around.

The music is good, there’s another drink in his hand, his friends surround him and Harry feels happy. He missed this, he realises, missed the press of bodies around him, dancing, moving to sounds in the dark.

He dances close to Nick most of the night, his resolve ever present. He needs to get near him, to touch him, to show him that he can have Harry, too, if he wants to. Show him what he’s missing, maybe.

Their friends are not as young as they used to be and soon enough everyone starts making noises about going home and getting some sleep. Harry isn’t tired, his blood warm with the anticipation and the low arousal of the night. But he feels like getting Nick home, getting him all for himself, away from prying eyes.

“Where is Grim ?” asks Pixie as she grabs their coats from the cloakroom. That’s a good question. Harry isn’t sure exactly when he last saw him. Five minutes ago, maybe ?

“I’ll go get him” he tells Pixie. He gets back into the main room.

The crowd parts in the low light and Harry sees Nick with another guy. Tall, tanned, beautiful hair, perfect jawline. They’re standing very close to each other and the guy has a hand on Nick’s arm. He laughs at something Harry can’t hear and Nick makes his satisfied face, the one he has when he’s close to getting what he wants. Harry knows that face.

Maybe it’s a stupid idea, Harry thinks. Nick is one of his closest friends. Why would he risk everything for a chance to shag him ? What if Nick isn’t interested ? Could Harry handle the rejection ? Could their friendship survive it ?

His mind buzzes with questions. But before he realises it, he is moving, brushing bodies aside on his way to Nick. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s years of telling himself this was the one thing he couldn’t have. But tonight, Harry is reckless, so much that he feels high on it, caution thrown to the wind.

Harry slots himself next to Nick, wrapping his arm around Nick’s waist. “Hiya” he says, smiling brightly at the other guy who clearly has no idea how to react to Harry Styles interrupting his conversation.

Nick, on the other hand, seems vaguely annoyed. “Styles,” he says, “is there something that you want ?”

_You_ , thinks Harry, _I want you._

He doesn’t say it, instead just leans his head on Nick’s shoulder. “We’re getting out of here. Everyone is knackered. Share a cab with me ?”

The guy is eying them suspiciously and seems ready to leave at any moment. “Wait !” says Nick as the he starts to turn away. “My friends are leaving, I just need to say goodbye and I’ll see you in a sec’ ?” He then looks at Harry. “Should we get you home, Styles ? Go find Daisy, she’ll put you in a car. You know the address.” He bats Harry’s hand away from his waist. Harry wants to pout.

“Couldn’t you take me home instead, Grim ? Same place, much easier”, Harry replies, voice slow and dripping with promises. He hears Nick’s breath catch.

“Harry …” he starts, a warning in his voice.

Nick is cut by the other guy : “You know what ? I don’t want to get in your way … See you around ?” He doesn’t let Nick reply anything, but looks a bit disappointed as he disappears in the crowd, sparing them one last glance before the mass of bodies swallows him back to anonymity.

“What the fuck, Harry ?” Nick turns to face him, his expression unreadable. Harry can’t really tell if he’s properly annoyed or not. “You little cockblocker. I was so close to getting a nice handjob.”

Harry smiles apologetically. Not angry then. “C’mon Grim, quit being a slag for a night. Come home with me, get some sleep, spend some time together. I feel like I have barely seen you recently.” He tugs at Nick’s arm and start dragging him towards the cloakroom.

“Wow. Slut-shaming much, Harold,” Nick says from behind him. Harry turns to beam at him, but Nick only frowns in return. Well, this is not going exactly as planned.

They join their group of friends and Pixie pushes his coat to Nick. They all spill out of Shoreditch house into the quiet of the street. A few cabs are lined on the other side, their signs lit up. George waves his phone : “I called Addison Lee. We should have enough of them for everyone.”

There’s hugs and goodbyes and pats on the back, and suddenly Harry and Nick are alone in a taxi.

“Fun night, right ?” says Harry, moving closer to Nick.

Nick has his forehead against the window. He hums his approval but doesn’t say more.

“Grim ?” asks Harry tentatively as the car gets closer to Nick’s place. “Are you angry with me ?”

Nick sighs and turns to face Harry. He seems ready to say something, but the car pulls up to his house and they both get busy with paying the driver and shuffling inside to great Pig and Stinky.

Nick lets his dogs out in the garden for a bit while Harry discards his coat and opens one more button to his already mostly unbuttoned shirt. Here, in the dark of Nick’s kitchen, scenes flood back in his mind, in his veins, a low hum of arousal spreading to his whole body. He can still hear Nick whimpering in pleasure, the ghost of a sound haunting the room with how much Harry wants to hear it again.

There’s a flurry of noises, voices and barks before Nick joins him to grab a glass of water. The silence between them is heavy. Harry wants to say something, ask his previous question again. He was always a smooth charmer, with Nick even more than with everyone else. But the subtle, unspoken change of dynamics between them has thrown him off. He feels torn apart between running away to forget his folly or dropping to his knees right now in front of Nick and worship him for as long as he’ll have him.

“Coward,” says Camille’s voice in his head. “You’re a bit of a coward sometimes, Harry.” He shivers.

“Nick”. No reply. Nick has his back to him, looking out into the garden. “Nick, hey, don’t ignore me. Are you mad at me ?” asks Harry again. He hates this, hates not knowing where he stands with someone. Especially Nick.

“What is going on with you recently, Haz ?” retorts Nick from his spot at the window. His voice sounds tired, suddenly, and accusatory. “I get that you’re just fresh out of a break-up, that you’re moping and moody. I get it. And I think I did all I could to be a supportive friend and help you with it. But what about you ? You’ve just been … off, the whole time. Did you even ask me how I felt after Bill left ? Because I watched the fucking Notebook about a thousand times with you and held your hand all the way through, but did you ever consider that maybe my heart is broken, too ? That maybe I wanted to watch Bridesmaids instead for once and get drunk with you ? You never asked, never offered.”

“Well, excuse me to assume. You seemed pretty fine to me,” Harry bites back. The fire burns between his ribs. He has to say it. “How about what’s gotten to you ? What is going on with you ? Sleeping with a new boy every night like it’s 2006 and you’re in your twenties again ? Disappearing God knows where all the time ? I’ve been in London for two weeks, I stay at your place, and I’ve barely seen you at all ! You didn’t look very heartbroken to me.”

“Oh my God. I can’t believe you”. Nick is fuming, walking up to Harry to point an accusatory finger at him. “So this is what it’s all about ? Me sleeping around ? As if you could say anything about it … So now because you were in a serious relationship for two years, you’re on some sort of higher moral ground and you can judge others for doing exactly what you used to before ? That’s fucking hypocrisy. Get over it, Styles. I don’t know, go out, get laid, you could use it.”

There’s a hot wave going through Harry’s body, curling low in his abdomen. The moment seems to stretch forever, but all he can hear is white noise and Nick’s labored breathing.

“If I need to get laid, what are you waiting for ?” asks Harry between his teeth. He raises his gaze to meet Nick’s. “What are you waiting for Nick ? Am I not pretty enough ? Not young enough ? Is there anything in any of these models that you can’t find in me ?”

Nick’s eyes widen in shock. “Harry what ? The fuck ?”

“I saw you,” continues Harry, his voice pitching lower, “I saw you back in the days when you pretended like you weren’t ogling my arse every chance you used to get. I saw all the times when we went out and you’d just disappear to fuck these other boys for the night. I saw you yesterday night, in here.”

Harry is so close to Nick now, face to face. He can feel the way Nick’s breath caresses his skin, can see in his eyes that they both know what he is talking about, in the way a lovely blush starts creeping up Nick’s face. This feels like a tipping point. Like Harry has no other choice but to jump down into the rabbit hole.

Harry brings his fingers to Nick’s face, tracing the curve of his mouth with his thumb, feeling Nick’s pulse flutter. Then he lets himself fall to his knees. The cold tiles of the floor hurt, but only in a distant way that his brain barely registers. He never leaves Nick’s gaze as his eyes follow his fall. There is no more words when Harry rakes his hands up Nick’s leg, feeling the muscles of his thighs contract where he brushes them. He licks his lips. It’s been a while, but sucking cock is like riding a bike: hard to forget. _Hard_ – ah.

Harry slowly, very slowly, brings his hands up to Nick’s crotch, lowering the zipper of his fly. He pops open the button at Nick’s waist and snakes his fingers inside Nick’s jeans to press again the hot bulge of his pants. Their eyes are still locked when Harry goes to lick against the fabric of Nick’s briefs, feeling the weight of his cock on his tongue.

This seems to wake Nick from his trance. He lets out a string of curses and fists a hand in Harry’s curls, the other going to grip the kitchen counter behind him. “Fuck, Haz. Fuck,” Nick moans. “This is a terrible idea.”

“Tell me to stop and we can forget it now, pretend it never happened,” says Harry. His voice is slow and thick to his own ears. He sounds drunk on it, feels drunk on it. His own cock is pressing hard against his fly with how much he wants it.

Nick’s answer is to tug on Harry’s hair harder and guide him forward towards his crotch as he drops his head back, breaking eye contact. A litany of _yes yes yes_ takes over Harry’s mind as he pushes Nick’s jeans and pants down and swallows his half-hard cock.

Whispers of memories come back to Harry as he re-discovers the taste of it, the feeling on his tongue, the way his jaw strains to take Nick deeper, how his lips wet with spit and he still can’t get enough. He closes his eyes for a moment and presses a hand against his own aching cock while holding Nick’s hips in place with the other. He relaxes his throat and breathes through his nose, slowly taking Nick deeper in his mouth. He wants to gag on it, make it filthy and, more importantly, impossible to forget in the morning. For himself as much as Nick.

Harry continues to swallow down Nick’s cock, now fully hard, until tears start rolling down his eyes and he has to come up to breathe. He lets go of Nick with a slick sound and takes in long gulps of air. Suddenly, he feels fingers against his face. There’s a thumb lovingly gathering the tears on his cheeks, spreading the wetness to his lips. Harry licks it, presses his eyes shut for a second as his breathing slows down and then opens them again, looking straight at Nick’s face. Oh. Nick is watching him with an almost reverent look, eyes wide and shiny with clumsy tenderness, like he can’t really believe this is happening. But again, so does Harry.

“Fuck, Harry, come here,” moans Nick, catching Harry’s shoulders to get him to stand up. Harry scrambles to his feet as fast as his bruised knees and painfully hard dick allow him to. Standing to eye level again with Nick after he’d just had his cock in his mouth is almost too much. It’s like a punch in the gut, the way they can’t seem to stop looking at each other, how the air seem to bristle with tension around them.

“Can I kiss you ?” asks Nick in a whisper as he smooths his hands down Harry’s torso, absentmindedly opening buttons on his shirt to reach his bare skin.

“Grim, I’ve just sucked your cock, of course you -” but Harry’s reply is cut when Nick grabs him by the neck and presses him into a deep, burning kiss. They don’t waste any time before meeting tongue against tongue. Moans and muffled sounds invade the quiet of the kitchen, the heat rising between them as they press closer and closer the swallow every whimper with their mouths. Harry has Nick’s hair grabbed tight in his fists as he ruts gracelessly against Nick’s hard, naked cock, chasing the rush of pleasure.

He is desperate now, whining with each move of Nick’s hips against his owns, never letting him stop to breathe for more than a second. He wants to consume Nick, wants everything he can get before they probably wake up from their madness and pretend it was a terrible error of judgement. He’s afraid of what will come next, of what this means. But his fears just charge his body with even more adrenaline and lust, the low buzz of his arousal now a full body shiver. He needs to take everything, have all of Nick against him - in him, in his mouth and hands and arse and everywhere - before Nick most likely lets him go to move on to the next boy.

Two strong hands against Harry’s shoulders push him back, forcing him to detach his lips from Nick’s and finally open his eyes. Fuck. Nick looks like the loveliest wreck, hooded eyes shining in the low light and lips bitten red. His trousers and pants have slid down to his knees and his hard cock hangs heavy between his legs. He would look a ridiculous picture if Harry’s brain wasn’t so consumed by want. But now, Harry can’t bring himself to laugh. His breath is trapped in his throat at the look of devotion on Nick’s face. _Please let this be true_ , he begs silently, _please never leave me, let me see you wrecked like this every day until the end of my life._ Lust and love mix and melt together in his head. He is lost.

“Harry, love,” says Nick, his hands sliding up Harry’s shoulders to press against the sides of his neck, “what do you want ?”

_Everything. Everything I can have._

“I want to … God … I want to fuck you. No, before, I want you to fuck me. Please.” Harry’s voice breaks with his last words, sounding almost foreign to his own ears, all scratchy and low. The pit of his stomach is warm with desire again and the cold air is raising goosebumps on his skin. It’s a delicious feeling, this anticipation. Like he can taste the sweet release of his orgasm on the tip of his tongue.

Nick looks mesmerised for a second, his eyes large and startled. But he quickly shakes out of it to drag his trousers back up to his waist and hawl Harry up to his bedroom.

Talking will come later, decides Harry.

They stumble in bed together like it is the most natural thing to do. And maybe it is, maybe they just spent a lot of stupid years not doing this.

They kiss for what seems to Harry like hours, carefully removing clothing with each new moan. And then they’re both naked, tangled together on Nick’s massive bed. Roaming hands become more insistent. Breaths catch.

Nick opens Harry up with his fingers, taking his time. They both luxuriate in the feel of it, the stretch of Harry’s body. When Nick adds his pinky to the other three fingers already inside his hole, Harry grunts and flip them over so that he can kneel above Nick and leave a thousand bites to his neck.

“I’m ready now,” he breathes, “stop teasing.” Under him, Nick is at loss for words, his mouth opening and closing without sounds when Harry pins his wrists to the bed and starts wriggling on his lap. Nick’s entire face and torso are covered by a lovely blush that Harry finds oddly endearing. As if fucking droves of pretty guys could never really get the awkward teenager out of Nick.

Harry smirks in front of the tableau of Nick red and desperately aroused under him, rendered speechless, begging to take him with every roll of his hips pushing his cock against Harry’s hole. How delicious. “Gonna fuck you good,” Harry says as he roll a condom on Nick’s length before lining up above it. “Gonna make you forget all the sex you’ve had before,” he adds, biting his lips to hide the sound of mirthful victory from his voice. Finally, Nick is his for the taking. Tonight Harry, and nobody else, will get to have him.

Nick seems to find enough willpower to mutter a “that’s very ambitious of you, Harold,” and free one of his hands from Harry’s grip to grab Harry’s waist and guide him down.

They both groan as Harry carefully sinks onto Nick’s cock. God, Harry had missed the stretch of it, the overwhelming feeling of fullness with each rocking motion as he takes Nick in inch by inch. The way he has his hands braced against Nick’s torso, grounded in the rough sensation of his chest hair against his palms.

They fuck like this, Harry riding Nick with abandon, selfishly chasing his pleasure and reveling in the noises he tears from Nick.

“Fuck Harry, fuck,” groans Nick. “Want you to come. Let me see you come.” And he pushes his hips harder against Harry’s, driving deeper into him, meeting his urgent rhythm.

Harry comes when Nick wraps a hand around him. He whines and spills on Nick’s chest. His heart beats wildly. His whole body feels on fire, almost like his skin is too tight to contains the mess of hazy feelings and pleasure that drowns him. He pants in the silence of the bedroom, trying to find his footing again, to center himself back in reality. Nick’s hard cock is still in him and it’s the only thing he can concentrate on.

Harry starts tentatively rocking his hips again, his arse burning with it. He whimpers. “Nick -- come on.” Another breath, his eyes closed. “Come on, come for me, come in me.” It feels filthy in all the best ways.

Nick growls under him and the next thing Harry knows, he’s being flipped on his back as Nick pins him to the bed and, not wasting a second, pushes into him again. His thrusts are erratic now, slapping his hips against Harry’s as he chases his pleasure. They try to kiss, but it mostly ends up as a press of lips against lips and moans against moans.

Nick stills above him when he comes. His face is all scrunched up. It shouldn’t be sexy, but it makes Harry’s heart flutter.

He barely has time to catch his breath before Nick drops down on him, boneless. The moment barely lasts: Nick is heavy and there is drying come sticking them together to take care of. So with a huff and a last press of his lips to Harry’s forehead, Nick rolls off of him and drags himself out of bed to retrieve a wet flannel.  
  
Harry listens to the sound of the airing system in the ensuite bathroom. Now that the aftermaths of his orgasm are wearing out, doubt starts to creep up on him. What had just happened? Oh, he had wanted this, for sure. But was this going to ruin everything with Nick? If it did, Harry thought, it was at least all for a really good shag. Well, clearly not worth fucking up years of friendship, but he could cherish the memory and jerk off to it for a long time. A very long time.

Nick comes back to bed with a pairs of boxers and a t-shirt on. He dips his knees in the mattress next to Harry and wordlessly hands him a towel. Harry keeps his eyes pinned on him even as he rubs the cooling come off his stomach, trying to read Nick’s face for any sign of bad news.

But Nick seems unfazed by it all, flopping down next to Harry with a pleased sigh and dragging the covers over them. Once Harry is done with cleaning up, Nick takes the towel out of his hands and just throws it on the floor.

“I’ll deal with it tomorrow”, he says, his voice muffled by the pillow he hugs against his cheeks. His eyes are closed. Harry feels his heart swell up ten times with tenderness.

Dealing with it tomorrow seems like a brilliant idea to Harry as sleep slowly creeps up on him, the delicious ache of his body and the sudden exhaustion of the evening silencing his earlier worries. He tangles his legs with Nick’s, who barely protests, and lets himself drift off to sleep.

All his fears about regretting it in the morning evaporate as soon as Harry wakes up. Mostly because he is roused by the sensation of a hand against his prick, soon followed by the sweet, warm heat of a mouth closing around him. He hums in pleasure and blindly gropes for Nick’s head at his hip, grunting when he wraps his hand in Nick’s hair and guides him back down on his hardening cock. This is Harry’s favourite way of waking up, and he vaguely recalls telling Nick about it once upon a drunken night. Harry is definitely not regretting this little bit of oversharing.

Nick moans against Harry’s cock, giving it his best. He expertly sucks and licks and palms it, making Harry feel overwhelmed with the assault of sensations. Nick is good at this. Fucking good at sucking cock. Harry doesn’t know why he’s surprised. Nick has been doing this for much longer (and much more often) than he has, and his experience shows. Light-headed with bliss and his impending orgasm, Harry briefly thinks about sending Nick’s old hookups a fruit basket each, as a thank you for helping him hone his skills. Even if it would cost him a fortune.

‘’Wait, Nick, please,’’ he grits between his teeth, tugging too hard on Nick’s hair to slow him down. If Nick doesn’t stop, he’s going to come embarrassingly fast.

Nick lets Harry’s cock go with an obscene wet sound and rise up to look at him with a leer. ‘’You need to get laid babe, so we’re getting you laid. Properly.’’ He squeezes the base of Harry’s dick, sending shivers down his whole body. Harry is fully awake now, his blood buzzing with the conflicting need to come _now_ or let Nick drag it out for longer to enjoy the sweet torture of it.

‘’Let me finish you. I want to taste you. Then we can have breakfast to get some strength and you can fuck me on the sofa,’’ Nick says like it is the most natural thing in the world, like if them spending a Sunday shagging everywhere in his house was a normal occurrence and not something that had just happened on the heat of the moment the day before.

Harry swallows, hard. He wants it so much. He is terrible at refusing himself the things he craves. Sweets, extravagant holidays, girls. Right now he wants Nick, feels it everywhere, clouding his mind, making his heart beat. He wants it greedily, wants to have sex with Nick all the time, everywhere, until it’s too much and they can’t anymore, just to get to sleep next to him once more and have him wrap his delicious lips around him again the next day until forever. Until the hunger at the pit of his stomach his sated, until he can get this primal, burning desire for Nick out of his system.

‘’We’re not leaving this place today,’’ he tells Nick, trying to sound confident.

‘’Oh no, we’re not,’’ says Nick with a chuckle. ‘’But first, let’s finish this, shall we ?’’ And he dips back down to Harry’s lap, deep-throating him and making him shout with both hands fisted in the sheets.

They spend the rest of the day as promised : Nick gets out of his room to make them both granola bowls that they eat in companionable silence in bed before brushing their teeth side to side in the ensuite bathroom and sharing handjobs in the shower. Harry’s back hurt from bottoming for the first time in too long, but the pain is sweet in the afterglow. For most of the day, they keep a casual conversation running like they always did before. The only difference is, when they’re two episodes into the fifth season of Queer Eye, Harry puts his hand over Nick’s groin and reminds him of his earlier promise of a shag on the couch. The fact that he has the power, the full enthusiastic consent to do so (and so much more) feels intoxicating. They end up vacating the couch early because the bed is more practical and Harry takes his time exploring Nick with his fingers everywhere before taking him on his back, hunched over him and grunting with each thrusts closer to abandon.  
  
Somehow, they never stop. They go to bed together that night and wake up together the next morning. Nick leaves for the BBC in the afternoon for his show and comes back with vegetable korma for an early dinner. Harry blows him on the couch later, taking his sweet time to look at his face as he takes him apart. He wants to capture this moment for later, how it is caught in a dream-like quality with the low light of the dusk filtering through the windows. He wants to remember the soft sounds Nick makes as Harry mouth around his cock, make them into a melody, mix them with the ache of his jaw and the wild beating of his heart until he gets a song good enough to sort out his own messy feelings. Would it be a song about lust, about the insatiable burn of desire, about the passion possessing him every time his eyes meet Nick’s ? Would it be a song about a short-lived madness, a delirious lapse of judgement lost in a primal haze that will leave both of them bruised ? Or would it be that song he can’t bring himself to write yet, the one where hands and hearts are entangled for the beginning of a long dance, where the fragile words of love tentatively step from the shadows ?  
  
They go to bed and Nick fingers him until he comes with praises mumbled in his collarbone. ‘’My pretty boy, so good, so beautiful.’’ His words make Harry wrap himself tighter around Nick as he falls asleep, chasing warmth to the sound of their bodies moving under the covers. 

Harry wakes up first the next day. He checks the time, 6:34, and briefly panics that Nick is late for the radio before remembering that no, Nick is on drivetime now. He’s fine. He lets him sleep then, trying really hard not to linger his gaze on the sleeping form in the bed he leaves behind. He doesn’t want to settle too much in the domesticity of it all. The whole thing is too new, too unsteady. He’s afraid it’ll just shatter to pieces soon, and leave him empty.

He sends a text to Nick’s phone to reassure him that he has not disappeared and heads for the gym. When he gets back three hours later with breakfast, Pig and Stinky are the only ones greeting him. There’s a note on the kitchen counter:

_Gone to the studio for the day, we have some stuff to record. Don’t forget Aims is bringing Sunday at 10.30_ xxx Grim

Shit. Sunday. In the sex haze of the past days, Harry had completely forgotten his promise to Aimee that he would watch the toddler for a day while she was in production meetings for Annie’s next festival.

He rushes around the place to make sure there is nothing too incriminating lying around. He does find a bottle of lube next to the sofa where Nick had opened himself up for Harry’s cock on Sunday night, making a show of it for Harry’s dazed, hungry eyes.

Harry hides the lube in the master bedroom and lets the dogs in the garden just in time for the bell to ring. He runs to the door and opens it with a beaming smile.

“Hiya Styles,” drawls Aimee. Her New York accent is slowly fading away with too many years in the UK, sounding strange to Harry’s ears, a potent testament of how many years had passed since he’d first met Nick and been introduced to his gang. Sunday is in Aimee’s arms, dressed from head to toes in a variation of brightly coloured polka dots (polka dots dress, polka dots socks, tiny adorable polka dots Vans). Harry really wants to coo at her.

They make their way into Nick’s place and Aimee leaves her daughter to wander away in the kitchen where she glues her face to the bay window and waves at the dogs running outside.

“Can I get you anything to drink, Aimee ?”

“Harry”, she starts, strangely stern.

Harry takes his head out of the fridge to look at her, confused. She is unreadable, her sharp gaze fixed on him.

“This thing you’re doing with Nick,” she continues, “I hope you know what you’re doing. His heart’s been bruised, and you are just out of a two years long solid relationship. I’m not sure whatever crazy rebound sex you guys are having is worth your friendship. Don’t you think ?”

Harry is at a loss for words. Of course Nick told Aimee they’d started shagging. Of course. There is nothing Nick has ever hid from Aimee, Harry knows that. He should have seen it coming.

Aimee eyes him pointedly one more time and sigh. “Just … be careful with him Harry. And with yourself for that matter”. She looks tired behind her perfect makeup and coiffed hair. “Anyway, you’re both adults and I already have one child to deal with. That’s plenty”. Her tone changes again, back to her usual drawl. “I’ll gladly take a glass of water, thanks”.

Aimee moves to pick up Sunday by the window where the dogs are barking at her excitedly. Harry watches them for a moment, silent. Why would he hurt Nick ? Why would Nick hurt him ? He feels unsteady. The nagging feeling that shagging Nick was a bad idea comes back to him. He pushes it back down. Why is he so afraid anyway ? It’s just Nick.

But it’s not just Nick, not really. It’s the possibility that he might jeopardize one of the strongest, deepest friendship he ever made. It’s all the other possibilities, the futures he can’t imagine in which Nick and him are more than just friends, in which there is another house with their art mixed and the dogs running after children.

Harry sucks in a breath and forces himself to focus on the present. He puts on a smile and brings Aimee the glass of water she asked for.

Aimee thanks him and hands him Sunday. The little girl beams at him. “You’re going to be nice for Harry while Mummy is away today, babe ?” asks Aimee, stronking a hand on her daughter’s back.

“Harry ! Can I go play with the doggies ?” Sunday is completely ignoring her mother, focusing instead her little toothy grin on Harry. His heart does elaborate swoops in his chest. He loves kids, and Sunday is a true delight to have around.

“Of course, we’ll go play fetch with them when your mum is gone, okay ?” Sunday beams at him even brighter and pokes Harry’s face in reply, chanting “doggies doggies doggies”.

“I better go now or I’ll be late,” say Aimee. She grabs her purse and plants a kiss on the back of Sunday’s head. “Bye sweetie, bye Harry. I’ll see you both later”.

Harry sees her to the door, feeling a but like a house-husband wishing their spouse a good day, readjusting Sunday against him as she waves goodbye to her mother from the threshold.

Harry spends a great day looking after Sunday. He can proudly say that he is a great babysitter, and Sunday is an easy child, so it works out perfectly. They throw some balls to the dogs in the garden. After that, Harry cooks noodles and peas for lunch while Sunday sing-songs from the highchair Nick bought especially for her. He settles her for a nap after they eat and goes back to writing lyrics about sex and uncertainty for a good hour while Sunday sleeps. Finally, when Aimee comes back at the end of the afternoon to pick her daughter up, Harry is sharing with her a mindfulness colouring book someone must have given Nick one day and they are making a terrible job of filling out the intricate mandala patterns with felt pens.

Once Sunday and Aimee leave, Harry goes out to walk the dogs with a hat and massive glasses on. Pig and Stinky run around like excited puppies, dragging him along by their leashes. Harry happily follows them, glad to be outside once, the quiet of Stoke Newington guaranteeing him some degree of anonymity. He lets the dogs run after a squirrel in the closest park. Keeping an eye on them, he thumbs his phone open and snaps a picture. There’s a bunch of new messages on his screen: a few in his family WhatsApp group, one from Jeff, another from Nick telling him Miquita is coming over for dinner and, surprisingly, one from Camille.

The pang of heartbreak he expects to feel seeing it doesn’t come, so he opens it. It’s a simple message enquiring about an overdue water bill for their New York flat, finished by a ‘Let me know how you’re doing’ that fills Harry with a sense of fondness and a sudden desire to call her and tell her all about Nick. Obviously it’s a terrible idea, but Camille was always good at helping him sort out his feelings, like when his first solo tour was hitting him hard.

Harry pockets back his phone without replying. He’ll get his assistant to sort out the water bill later. But now, he has a new someone to go back to, some emotions to address and a dinner to attend. So he collects Pig and Stinky from where they’d run off in the park and leads them back to Nick’s place.

He finds Nick in the kitchen with Miquita, stirring the content of a pot on the hob. Miquita greats Harry with a wide smile and goes to hug him before dropping to the floor to rub the dogs’ bellies.

Harry slides in behind Nick’s back, placing a discreet hand against his hip as he look over Nick’s shoulder. “What are you making ? Smells good.”

He feels Nick’s smile where they are cheek to cheek. “Some sort of risotto. Nothing too complicated, so hopefully I won’t burn it.”

Harry stares at the movement of Nick’s hand for a second. He likes the feeling of their bodies standing so close, the warmth of Nick’s skin under his hand. The intimacy of it is addictive.

Miquita’s voice rises from behind them, taking Harry out of his reverie. “Aw, look at you guys, being all domestic like the cutest couple around !” She says it like a joke, but it makes Harry feel suddenly possessive of the secret little bubble he shares with Nick. He doubts Nick has told more than Aimee about them. He doesn’t want to share Nick now ; doesn’t want to share anything too fragile in fear that he’ll break it.

Harry detaches himself from Nick’s back.

“The dogs need to be fed if you want,” Nick tells him without looking his way, his gaze fixed too pointedly on the risotto in front of him. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes max.”

Harry isn’t sure if he sees Nick’s hands shaking over the hob or not, but he catches a vague frown on Miquita’s face when he turns to look at her.

“I’ll set the table”, she says, and disappears to retrieve the plates.

They have a quiet dinner by the kitchen island. The risotto is good (Harry should stop being surprised by Nick’s cooking abilities by now) and the bottle of white wine they share pleasantly warms his limbs. Nick and Miquita update Harry on the various friends they have in common that he hasn’t seen yet since he was back in London. He tells Miquita about his plans for his next album, staying vague but making an excellent imitation of the panicky phone calls from his producer about deadlines that has Miquita in stitches by the end of it. Nick just smiles at the story, which makes Harry’s heart pang. His friend seems … elsewhere. More quiet than usual, his eyes unfocused.

Soon after they finish eating, Miquita gets ready to leave, citing work the next day. She goes to grab her jacket while Harry and Nick get started on washing the dishes, standing hip to hip by the kitchen sink and passing plates to each other in a comfortable silence.

“You guys would be the best boyfriends, really,” says Miquita with a laugh as she comes to embrace them. “Cooking together, doing the dishes together … the perfect couple !”.

She is clearly making a joke of it, but it gets Harry’s pulse racing again. He doesn’t know how to reply, or even if he should. So he just smiles and wishes her goodbye, letting Nick accompany her to the door. He dries the last wine glasses and moves to the lounge to put them back in their cupboard.

He hears Nick come in after him. “Maybe she’s right, Haz.”

“What ?” asks Harry, turning around. Nick is leaning on the doorway to the room, pensive, his hands fidgeting like he always does when he gets nervous.

“Maybe Miquita is right and we would be good boyfriends …” Nick lets the rest of his sentence die, looking expectantly towards Harry. His face is so open, so full of fearful honesty. Harry wants to wrap him in his arms and never let him go. “I know it’s only been a few days since we … whatever. But we’ve been friends for years, we’ve even lived together sometimes. It doesn’t seem like such a crazy idea to me.”

Harry can’t reply. He doesn’t know what to say. He wants Nick, so desperately. The last few days he had a taste of more, of Nick’s skin under his and cock in his mouth and hands everywhere. He’s still drunk on it, still wants more until he gets his fill. But how long will it last ? He can’t tell if he loves Nick like that, or if he wants to love him like that. Could they be boyfriends ? Weren’t they already, a little bit ?

Nothing will calm the thunder in his mind, so Harry gives into it. In two strides, he is in front of Nick, pinning him against the wall with a slam. He swallows Nick’s gasp with his lips and wraps himself as tightly as he can around him, his arms on Nick’s lower back, bringing him forward into his body.

Harry’s tongue opens Nick mouth and he moans against it. Nick’s hands are gripping at his shoulders hard enough to leave a mark. He is meeting Harry’s heated kiss with even more desperation. Their hips crash together, crotch against crotch where they’re both hard in their trousers.

Harry revels in the heat of it. He pushes himself harder against Nick. It’s been a while since he last got off like this, just humping against someone, fully clothed, hard like the teenager he used to be. He feels warm all over, uncomfortable in his jeans but too caught in the moment to bother stopping to get them off. The build up of his orgasm is almost painful with urgency. It makes him feel 18 again, back when he was fucking groupies with abandon, drunk on sex and fame. Only Nick is nothing like a groupie, his broad flat chest keeping Harry upright, his impossibly large hands gripping his hair hard as he bites Harry’s lips and moans into them.

“Gonna come in your pants for me, Haz ? Come just like that ?” Nick is humping against him faster, harder. His words electrify Harry. He’s pretty sure his face is flushed under the effort, can feel the burn of it on his cheeks. His hips get more erratic as his orgasm gets closer. And when Nick snakes a hand down to cup him and press hard against his groin, Harry loses it. All he can do is pant into Nick’s shoulder when he comes. It’s painful that way, pressed too tight behind the zip of his trousers and the fabric of his pants. But Harry loves it anyway.

In the fuzzy aftermath of his orgasm, Harry still manages to drag Nick up the stairs to his bedroom, pushing him on the bed to straddle him. He rocks against him, slower this time, tearing the moans out of Nick’s throat. His own pants are sticky and uncomfortable with drying come, but he needs to get Nick off first. It takes a bit longer, dragging his arse against Nick’s hard-on, his hands splayed on Nick’s chest, keeping him down. Harry loves being able to look at him like that, from above. Nick has an iron grip on his hips. He tries multiple times to get Harry to go faster, but Harry keeps his slow pace, a smirk on his lips.

Harry knows he can do this, he can control this. Sex. Desire. That’s easy. He’s a natural at it. But can he really give Nick what he wants ?

Nick comes, finally, curling into himself until his head comes to rest against Harry’s sternum. The silence between them feels sudden now. They get rid of their trousers and dirty underwear, piling them in the laundry basket by the bathroom. Nick mutters something that Harry doesn’t really get about ‘bloody twentysomethings’ as he disappears to brush his teeth. He joins Harry in bed later, but his eyes are shiftily avoiding meeting Harry’s. Harry is lost again. I would have never expected before that Nick could be someone who’d throw him off-balance so often.

Nick mutters a ‘goodnight’ over his shoulder, turning away from Harry in his bed. He seems to fall asleep quickly. On his side, Harry keeps repeating the evening in his mind. I likes Nick, is the thing. They have a great dynamic. They always worked well as friends, and recently proved that they worked well as lovers, too. Being in a relationship isn’t that far of a stretch. Only there’s the tiny things that keep nagging Harry, all the reasons why he thinks it wouldn’t work. He isn’t really out, for a start. He just had his longest relationship to date with someone he had loved and wanted like never before, and he still had fucked it up. They’d even moved in together, were making plans for the future, and he fucked it up. He’s flighty and flirty and away too often. He has crazy fans with a taste for violent threats. Overall, not the ideal boyfriend for a homebody like Nick who keeps talking to him about kids and houses in the countryside. 

Harry sighs. Down the path of self-doubt only lies more confusion. He wants to talk to someone about it, but who ? His LA friends don’t really know Nick, his London friends know him too well. And his New York friends were Camille’s, really, so not the best choice.

Camille.

Suddenly more awake, Harry fiddles around the bedside table until he gets his phone. Midnight. She’ll be on her phone on New York time.

His heart pounds faster as he opens the last text she sent him. He types a quick ‘ _My people are handling the water bill situation, don’t worry. Thank you for telling me tho_ ’. He presses send and stares at the last line of her message.

_Let me know how you’re doing._

He hesitates for a second, but it feels like the right thing to do, suddenly. The real closure he needs, the one that opens a new door in his life.

_I have a weird question_ , he types. _Be honest: was I a bad boyfriend ?_  

He sends the text and waits. A few minutes pass before he gets a reply. 

_Weird question indeed._

_I don’t think so, no._

_Not the best boyfriend, but who is perfect anyways?_

_You took time to be with me, you really cared._

_We just ran our course._

_It happens._

_Why are you asking ?_

Harry blinks at his screen. He doesn’t want to lie, but the truth might be too much now.

_I wanted to make sure I wasn’t a complete arsehole_ , he replies instead. 

_You were great, don’t worry_ , Camille sends back in an instant. It warms Harry’s heart with a quiet fondness.

_Thank you x_

Harry flops back down against the pillows. Nick doesn’t stir.

Nick is back to his usual chipper self the next morning, like nothing had been said. He gropes Harry’s butt on his way to the bathroom and play footsie with him under the table during their breakfast. Footsie evolves into trying to have sex on said table, not very practical. Nick has to run to the bedroom to collect the essentials, leaving Harry waiting fully naked in the living room. But the awkwardness is quickly forgotten when Nick finally slides into him and drives Harry to his orgasm in fast thrusts that have the table rocking where Harry is bent over it.

Really, Harry is relieved that they don’t mention the boyfriend thing again. It feels easier this way to kiss Nick goodbye when he leaves for work, easier to make dinner for two in the kitchen while waiting for him to come back with his radio show playing in the kitchen. Easier to wrap himself around Nick in the sofa to catch up on _Bake Off_ and just enjoy the moment as it is. 

The week carries on. Nick goes to work, Harry writes songs and goes shopping with Alexa. They reunite every day in the quiet moments, when it’s just them in Nick’s house. Having a meal together, talking about anything and nothing, exploring their bodies and desires. Nick’s bedroom becomes Harry’s as well, the guest room long forgotten. 

They go out to meet friends together and act like nothing has changed. Harry loves the thrill of it, pins Nick against a wall of Henry’s flat to kiss him senseless while the others are chatting in the next room, completely unaware. He doesn’t know if he wants to be discovered, really. But he gets off on it, the secrecy and the air of scandal. 

Only Aimee keeps looking at them with suspicious faces every time she is around. Harry isn’t sure if Nick notices it, or if her glares are mainly directed at Harry.

But eventually, real life catches up on Harry. First there’s a phone call from Jeff about meetings with his record label that they really can’t put off anymore, then there’s an email from his acting agent about exciting scripts and LA auditions. Harry wants to ignore them, but it’s clear that he’s going to have to go back to the US soon, and for some time. His heart aches at the idea of it, knowing that he’ll have to leave Nick and Pig and Stinky and the Stoke Newington house for who knows how long. 

The feeling settles like an evidence, then. _I’m falling in love with Nick_ . It surprises him that he isn’t afraid. It feels natural, somehow. Like fate had dictated it years ago when they’d met. Harry welcomes the realisation in peace, lets it wash on his soul and his heart. _I need to tell him._

It's late in the afternoon when Harry drags himself out of the couch to put on shoes and drive Nick’s car to the nearest Primrose Bakery. He buys a strawberry milkshake cake and then makes two other stops: one at that indian restaurant Nick’s swears by to get takeaway, and another at the closest florist where he selects a bouquet of bright peonies. He feels fragile with anticipation, like he’s walking in a different world where everything seems a bit surreal, a bit new. His heart catches in his throat in a way he rarely only feels before going on stage to perform.

Once back at Nick’s, he sets the table and lights candles around the room. The space looks eerie now, lit only by the flickering flames as the sun sets down outside the windows. Harry is restless. He can’t wait for Nick to come back from work. Can’t wait to try another crazy thing with him. He wants to get lost in his own heart again, wants to feel the waves of passion take him and shake him. He wants to write a hundred songs about it. 

The look Nick gives him when he enters the room later settles any doubts Harry had left. Nick’s eyes are soft and reverent, and he barely says a word. They stare at each other for a moment, ignoring the barks of the excited dogs by their feet. 

Finally, Nick breathes a ‘Fuck, Haz, that’s lovely’ as he drops his jacket on one of the chairs. Harry grins at him, happy. He wants to kiss Nick, but the dogs are trying to climb their legs, asking for attention, and he needs them out of the way.

“Sit down, make yourself comfortable, I’ll just take care of your children quickly,” he jokes at Nick.

“Yeah, sure,” replies Nick. His voice is quieter than usual.

Harry goes to the kitchen to feed the dogs, the sound of food in their bowls attracting them out of the living room in a second.

“Sorry guys, I’ve got to go woo your dad,” he tells them when moving their bowls in the garden. He gives them both a treat as a form of apology. 

Harry goes back to the kitchen and closes the door on his way to the living room.

Nick has put on music in his absence, the speakers playing something soft and atmospheric by Beach House. His eyes follow Harry when he sits down in front of him and passes him on of the boxes of curry. 

“So, Grim, how was your day ?”

“Hum, this is all very lovely … but what is going on exactly ?” asks Nick instead of replying, with added dramatic hand gestures towards the candles littered around the room. There’s no anger in his voice, just confusion with a hint of panic. More or less what Harry had been expecting from Nick when he’d planned it.

Harry smiles and sucks in a deep breath.

“So, you know how we mentioned doing the whole boyfriends thing together ? Well, I’ve been thinking … I’m up for it if you are.”

He sees Nick’s eyes widen.

“I wasn’t very sure before because of my history, but also because I didn’t want to lose you if it all went to shit,” continues Harry. “But I need to go back to the US for a bit for work, and I realised that I'm really going to miss you when I’m be gone. Not just miss you like I did before. Miss you more, miss more of you. I’ll miss the house, and your dogs, and waking up with you, and your sofa, and being near you all the time.” 

Harry can’t stop himself now. As the words come out of his mouth, they become real, settling like an evidence that this was the right thing to do.

“I can’t promise you to be the best boyfriend in the world, but I want to try. I want us to call each other every day if we can. Hell, I want to FaceTime your dogs !” Harry grabs Nick’s hand over the table, and Nick lets him. “I want us to be official and exclusive. Our friends need to know. And when I come back to London, when I come back to you, we can go on proper dates and try to make this work. We can try falling in love,” he finishes in a breath.

Nick laughs. “I’m not sure I’m going to have to try very hard for that.” He looks up, bashful.

Harry’s heart misses a beat. “Yeah, me neither,” he says, squeezing Nick’s hand harder in his own. “So, what do you think Grim ? Are we doing this ?”

Nick stops like to contemplate the idea for a second before he breaks out in a massive grin: “Yes, absolutely. I can’t wait to get started, _boyfriend_.” And he grips Harry by the collar of his shirt to drag him in a hurried and impractical kiss over the table that end with curry spilling on the floor. They both laugh, hands on each other, hearts open.

They end up having to clean the floor before it get too sticky, making a quick job of it. Nick suggests eating the rest of the curry still on the table but Harry shuts him up quickly with a kiss. The food is forgotten for a while. 

Later, they talk. They have a serious discussion about commitment and expectations and coming out, laying face to face on their sides in the dark of Nick’s bedroom. The curry is reheated and shared on the pillows with slices of the cake. They tangle their legs under the covers as they eat, murmuring soft words to each other between bites. 

Harry books his flights to LA and starts packing. Later that week, they hold hands in front of their friends during Sunday roast. Nobody freaks out too much. They mostly get congratulatory hugs and a lot of ‘about time’ that feel like only half a joke.

And when the time comes for Harry to take his plane, he leaves London with a kiss on his lips, lovebites on his thighs and a proper boyfriend waving at him from the window as he gets in his cab to the airport.

It’s not really a goodbye, this time around. More of a beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://kilimiria.tumblr.com/)
> 
> SPOILERS - Accidental voyeurism warning  
> One scene at the beginning has Harry stumbling upon Nick engaged in sexual activities with a stranger


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